At the University where I am a Lecturer, we say that good English uses three C's: Clear, Correct and Concise. Verbosity doesn't earn any extra points. Fillers are recognized exactly as such. I believe those three ideas should be used in any language, not just English. PbP more than any other form of role-playing game, requires a very astute use of written communication skill. That involves, knowing when to say enough and too much.
Navo lets the familiar weight of his shortbow slip from his calloused fingers, the weathered wood clattering to the ground with a dull thud that resonates like a somber death knell across the moonlit glade. In this moment, the ranger's gaze is alight with a smoldering intensity, his azure eyes narrowing to piercing slits as he foregoes the ranged elegance of his bow in favor of a more primal, unyielding form of conflict. ◇drop bow With a fluid, almost feline grace, the ranger's hands instinctively reach for the twin implements of destruction at his waist – a gleaming shortsword, its razor-sharp edge kissed by the ethereal glow of the moon, and a sturdy hatchet, the keen blade flecked with the dried remnants of past encounters. Navo's calloused fingers curl around the familiar hilts, the weight and balance of the weapons as natural to him as the very air he breathes. As the elven ranger's fingers tighten their grip, a subtle shift in his stance becomes discernible, his broad shoulders squaring, his knees bending ever so slightly, as if coiling like a spring, poised to unleash a torrent of devastation upon his unsuspecting foe. The air around him crackles with a palpable aura of menace, a tangible manifestation of the primal energies that course through his veins, a testament to the untamed ferocity that lies at the heart of the elven ranger. Navo's chiseled features, once etched with a hint of contemplation, now harden into an unyielding mask of grim determination, his jaw set, his brow furrowed in concentration. Gone is the hesitation, the fleeting shadow of empathy that had momentarily tempered his predatory instincts – in its' stead, a singular, uncompromising focus, a relentless drive to eliminate the threat that now stands some distance before him. With a fluid, almost choreographed series of motions, the ranger's weapons are drawn, the shortsword and hatchet, their edges keen and merciless. Navo's countenance is that of a stalking predator, his every movement imbued with a primal grace, a deadly elegance that belies the sheer destructive power he now wields. In this moment, the elven ranger is the embodiment of the untamed wilderness, a force of nature, untamed and uncompromising, ready to unleash the full fury of his wrath upon any who dare to cross his path. ◆draw shortsword
Navo fixes his unwavering gaze upon the form of the priestess of Zon-kuthon. In that moment, the sacred mantle of divine office seemingly fades into insignificance, for in the hunter's mind, she is no longer a vessel of the sacred, but rather a quarry to be persued, hunted down, gutted and ultimately eliminated. At the same time, the ranger is transformed, no longer the contemplative guardian of the wild, but a stalking predator, his every movement imbued with a deadly grace, a feral elegance that belies the sheer destructive power he now wields. With unwavering focus, the elf's gaze pierces the veil of the night, his eyes locking onto the form of the priestess, his mind cataloging every detail, every potential weakness that might be exploited. The ranger's jaw tightens, a shadow of grim determination etching itself across his rugged features, for in his mind, the decision has been made – the priestess, now stands as his prey, a target to be pursued and eliminated with the utmost prejudice. The world around him fades into the periphery, his entire existence now centered on the hunt, the relentless pursuit of his quarry. So great is his focus, that the Minister's request to leave the priestess alive and conscious falls on deaf elf ears. The ranger is the hunter, the primordial forces of the wild made manifest, and the priestess, once deemed untouchable, now stands as the hapless target of his unyielding wrath. ◆mark prey
Navo, the enigmatic elven ranger, pauses for but a fleeting moment, his azure eyes narrowing with a glimmer of contemplation that belies the storm of conflicting emotions raging within. For the briefest of instants, he finds himself torn between the primordial hunting instinct that courses through his veins, and the whispers of empathy that echo in the recesses of his soul. With a fluid, practiced motion, the ranger's calloused fingers caress the sleek, polished wood of his finely crafted shortbow, the familiar sensation grounding him, anchoring him to the primal rhythms of the wild. Yet, even as his grip tightens around the sturdy weapon, a flicker of hesitation flashes across his rugged countenance, a silent battle waging between the merciless predator and the protector of the natural order. Exhaling a barely perceptible sigh, Navo's gaze pierces the veil of the night, his keen eyes swiftly identifying the form of the priestess, her robes billowing in the gentle zephyrs that caress the moonlit glade. In that moment, the ranger's jaw tightens, a shadow of conflict darkening his features, for he is acutely aware that his arrows, once loosed, will bring not only a swift end to his prey, but also a measure of suffering that his conscience recoils from. Suffering which his prey may, not reel from, but perhaps even enjoy. Yet, the call of the hunt, the instinctual drive to protect what he views as innocent and pure, proves too powerful to ignore. With a fluid, almost reluctant motion, Navo draws back the bowstring, the muscles in his arms rippling with coiled power. Time seems to slow to a crawl as he aligns his arrow and bowstring, his senses hyper-focused, attuned to the increasingly violent situation at hand. In the heartbeat that follows, the ranger's fingers release their hold, and with a sharp, nearly imperceptible twang, the first arrow is loosed, streaking through the air with unerring precision. Before the priestess can even react, a second shaft is already in flight, its trajectory mirroring the first. Will these deadly pair of harbingers claim their prize? That, is up to Fate to decide. Yet, even as Navo watches the arrows cut through the night, a fleeting shadow of regret crosses his chiseled features, for he knows that his actions, though necessary for the protection of those who appear innocent behind him, may bring a swift and unforgiving end to one who walks the path of the divine... twisted they may be. In this moment, the ranger is a conflicted soul, torn between the primal instincts of the hunter and the compassion of the guardian of the natural world. ◆retrieve short bow
Navo, the enigmatic elven ranger, strides purposefully across the gently undulating grassy hillside, his footsteps muffled by the verdant carpet beneath his weathered pigskin boots. The silvery moonlight bathes the landscape in an ethereal glow, casting long dancing shadows that seem to accompany his every move. His keen blue eyes scan the horizon, and while alert to any potential threats or signs of movement, his senses remain focused solely on the scarecrow figure that he and his companions have been stalking since having last met the fiery priestess of Zul-Kuthon. Navo catches a glimpse of said fiery priestess, her chained-skull holy symbol glistening in the moonlight. In a brief instant, he wonders who will cause who pain today. With each step, Navo's lithe, sinewy frame moves with a fluid, graceful cadence, the muscles rippling beneath his rugged, outdoorsman's attire. His weathered, chiseled features are cast in a pensive, contemplative expression, betraying the sharp intellect and keen observation skills that are the hallmarks of the seasoned ranger. The gentle zephyrs caress his face, tousling his windswept, shoulder-length blonde hair as he navigates the undulating terrain, his every motion exuding a sense of practiced ease and familiarity with this wild untamed landscape. The soft and rhythmic crunch of grass and soil beneath his elven feet seems to whisper secrets to the earth, secrets that Navo alone appears privy to in this serene, moonlit tableau. He races up to the Scarecrow, unafraid of retaliation or harm. His blue-sky eyes, glittering with a hint of barely restrained intensity, lock into the scarecrow's mask, his weathered features hardening into a thinly veiled expression of menace. The ranger's movements become taut, coiled like a viper ready to strike, his every muscle poised and alert. With a subtle shift in his stance, he looms over the scarecrow, his towering presence casting a formidable shadow that seems to loom and swell, as if imbued with a palpable aura of predatory authority. Navo's chiseled, angular visage is etched with grim determination, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line. Yet, despite the absence of any verbal threat, his very bearing exudes an unmistakable air of menace, a silent warning that radiates from every fiber of his being, daring the scarecrow to challenge his dominance. The air seems to crackle with tension, as if the very elements themselves have stilled in anticipation of the elven ranger's next move., his piercing gaze promising pain should the scarecrow prove foolhardy enough to provoke his wrath. In this very moment, Navo embodies his Lord Ketephys, who stalks his prey tight-lipped but stern and filled with controlled violence meant only for one thing: his prey. He catches a glipse of people towards his north. Something clicks in Navo's head, as if things he'd wondered of and meaning suddenly merged together. Just as swiftly as he had run, Navo changed his mind. His manner relaxes in an instant, and his chiseled face quickly turns calm. His broad muscular shoulders hunch forward and his blue eyes now reflect the calm before a storm. He says with clarity and certainty "You have mere moments to explain yourself. Do so quickly. Death approaches!" His eyes dart towards the fiery priestess of Zul-Kuthon, specifically towards her spiked gauntlet which he had laid eyes on earlier on their first meeting. ◆stride
"But... I was busy enjoying listening to you speak" he says with a look of sincerity on his face. Ezren faces the merchants and talks to them. He says "Hobgoblin society is exactly that. Eversince the creation of Oprak, they have begun behaving like good neighbors. Oprak is now their home. They now seek peace and commerce. So perhaps your perception of them needs a little change, since they have changed?"
Thanks a lot GM Chadius! Thanks for running! Thanks guys! @Scatch, no worries. I loved seeing the crits!
These are NOT statements, they're posited as a question: Regardless of the number of actions (◆-◆◆◆) the main actor takes, the secondary actor gains only one action. So in a case of ◆◆◆ for the main actor, the secondary actor gains ◆. And there are no more moves left for either. In the case of ◆◆ for the main actor, the secondary actor gains ◆. But, either of them can do just one ◆ more aciton. In the case of ◆ for the main actor, the secondary actor gains ◆. Then either of them can have a ◆◆ action. Or ◆ for the main actor, and another ◆ for the secondary actor. ^^^Is the above all correct?
"Lieutenant Eloqi, prior to us going here, Raike issued two statements I'd like to address. She had said that there was "some sort of assassination attempt" here. Indeed, there was. The bulette's were brought here by the Aspis Consortium, and there have been several deaths for which they are solely responsible for." "She also claims that Csav over here is "a master of subterfuge and magic". Seth laughs. "This damphir is neither skillful at deception nor possesses one iota of magic. He is talentless in either." "If you are wondering what we were doing in Greeleep's tent, I will address that. We suspected something was wrong when the bulettes came, and we chose to investigate the situation. That investigation has led us to where we are now... presenting the truth, as we discovered it to be." "The reality is this, we Pathfinders have been true to you since the beginning. We offer you our companionship and a relationship that is faithful and beneficial." Seth gestures to his companions, and he bows.
"Lord Eloqi, the Pathfinder Society is a world-spanning organization whose members are primarily adventurers who explore the world. We report what we discover, and these findings form the Pathfinder Chronicles. Sometimes we take a direct hand in containing evil when it is encountered, especially when the evil is such that it would cause many great harm. To sum up: we explore, report and contain. Since we are not profit-driven, we have no interest in politics or economics. Nor do we care to change the culture of societies that we encounter. Since we are selling you nothing, not even ideology or merchandise - what is there to fear from us? Our motives are clear. What we ask for is the opportunity to explore, and in return we share the knowledge of what we find via the Chronicles. So what we offer is not world conquest via military strength or economic dominance. Rather, we offer knowledge and enlightenment. For without knowledge, we cannot make enlightened decisions about the world around us. We have provided you with a copy of the Pathfinder Chronicles. That, which represents enlightenment by way of knowledge, is our gift to you and your people."
Pls delay or Bot me. Poor Internet. Can't see map.
Seoni stands her ground and fires yet another lightning bolt. She targets Pink, Green and Yellow. She then casts a defensive cantrip.
◆◆ DC21 Reflex
"I'm running out of these bolts!"
Seoni hears Scratch's words and wonders which is louder... that fabulous firearm of his, or air suddenly returning to the vacuum created by a lighting bolt... she thinks I guess there's only way to find out! She moves to position herself better so that she can target both Pink and Black. She speaks the arcane words of power and...
◆Stride to maneuver
Can't take point. Seoni's too squishy
Rybar focuses his attention on the closest foe. He tries to identify some weakness to the foe before him, and then reaches into his bag of esoterica to empower his weapon. ◆
"Thank you Zepth!"
"I've always been interested in these weapons. I don't know how to make them exactly, but I understand some ideas involved especially since I am an alchemist. The materials burning and producing gas, which in turn propels the projectile forward... most interesting!"
"Betrayal is always a possibility when you trust someone. The truth is that maybe there is nothing that can be done. Life is not fair, and so sometimes the challenges that you face are bigger than you... at that moment in time. So, there's no need to worry about those things that you cannot do anything about. The challenge is to find the things which you can act on, and do those things." The Pathfinder Society is comprised of people. All people are flawed. To believe otherwise is folly. What isn't flawed, are the ideals that this society holds on to. That, is worthwhile believing in - no matter what betrayals, disappointments or mistakes are made. "No, its not about the money. I can make better money than what I am paid here in the Pathfinder Society. There's integrity, dignity, worth and value of a person which no one can pay for. I am here because I choose to be."
I'd love to post this, but it will get us killed. "Kupyn... I'm so sorry. It's HANU's fault. He fed your cauldron these dreadful ba-na-nas... and it just kept vomiting rocks until it finally 'died'." Rybar points at Hanu with both index fingers. Note that ba-na-na is pronounced the way Minions says it. Ban-nannana!
Rybar helps bury the chupacabra. But, he takes a pair teeth out of it. He adds these to his esoterica. After helping to cover the chupacabras' remains in dirt below the protector tree, Rybar can't help but marvel at the beauty of this site. What a first experience! He hopes that the tree is symbolic of the future, and how this adventure will blossom into something beautiful.
Aztryx comes crashing into the meeting room, once again - very late. He bends down, trying to catch his breath. When his breathing normalizes and he's wiped off sweat from his neck and forehead, he says "I'm sorry I'm late again. I had to go and get Mister Fewocious." He puts forth in one hand, a very small 5 pound tri-colored cat. The cat is so small, it has to be one of the smallest in all of Golarion. After presenting his cat to everyone, he puts him in a large inner robe pocket. Where the cat, seems to be at home. "Hello Barak! Hello Macondi! Hello Heather! Hello Scout!" he says to those who look familiar. He then heads over to the Leshy and Ysoki, and offers a handshake. "Well-met! I am Aztryx! Its a pleasure to meet you."
"Send the mosquitos away, now. When the last of them leave, you will be allowed to leave. But, even then - you will have to disperse. Scatter. Go very far away from here. Otherwise, we will chase you. Then..." Aztryx claps his hands together to kill a few mosquitoes. He then shows his hands to the mitflits, dead bugs burst by the clap ""Do we understand each other".
"That is an interesting thought, which can be tested and verified." Aztryx faces the oracle gnome and says "Macondi, if you don't mind - I'll borrow that for but a moment. You may hold it up for me if you do not wish to part with it." Aztryx takes a minute to cast Read Aura.
A young brownish-grey goblin with unusually long arms and ears seems to stray into the area of the Helm. He is dressed in mismatched pieces of studded leather armor. He sports a heavily-pocketed leather vest, and a multi-pouched belt around his waist. Despite being well-groomed and clean, he has a crazed look on his face marked by a permanent smirk. His eyes are bigger than most of his kind, always darting in every direction. He proffers a sharp-toothed impossibly-wide smile at anyone who looks at him. "Heyo ebberyone! Mesa name es Mokka Knutt. Notsa mocha liken da chocolate gup. M-o-k-k-a. Mesa las name's notsa nut, or nutty. Its notsa notsa, nor nutty. Its k-n-u-t-t. Mesa may lookee un sound liken loconut ta youza... youza right!" He suddenly plops on the ground cross-legged, and listens to the briefing. His eyes continue to dart everywhere. He tries to hide a chuckle.
Thanks for posting that link. It actually says something about identifying wands. "If you find a wand, you can try to figure out what spell is in it. If the spell is a common spell from your spell list or is a spell you know, you can use a single Recall Knowledge action and automatically succeed. If it’s not, you must Identify Magic" So apparently for Wands, having the spell on your list allows you the Recall Knowledge action to identify it.
"Thank you Zandyk." Quinthalas takes the puzzlebox. "Mine is a tricky riddle because it has at least two answers that I can think of, maybe more. The answers are: his passion, and his understanding. These things, you cannot leave behind. If you can think of something else, let me know." "I will look you up in Magaambya should I find my way there. Again, thank you."
Quinthalas looks aghast at Zandyk, who too quickly answered his riddle. He considers Norbwald's admonition that Sphinxes are indeed masters of riddles and it seems hopeless. He thinks to himself "Sphinxes have probably memorized every riddle that they could learn. My only chance is to make one myself, here and now." And so, Quinthalas tries. "If you'd care for another Zandyk, here is one more: In a far away kingdom of myth and lore, a Wizard's Tower rose on a shore.
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